


Home Again

by ChristinaS412



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet Reunion, Fluff, Other, Sad Fluff, Slow Burn, everyone returns to winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-11 11:39:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16474859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristinaS412/pseuds/ChristinaS412
Summary: Jon reunites with Arya and tries to introduce her to his new best friend.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at fic's so feedback and requests welcome! - Have a Gendry POV chap. in the works but primarily focusing on giving Arya/Gendry some one on one time in the next chap :)

The first light of dawn finds Arya strolling silently through the long yard of Winterfell, enjoying the cold flecks of snow that land on her freckled cheeks. She had always been a summer child, but something about the biting cold of the north soothed her more than anything ever had. Quietly her grey eyes scan the catwalk above before glancing back at the soft black footprints she had left behind on her way around the castle walls.

Dark brown eyebrows knit together, staring blankly at the sky when a thunderous cloud looms in the distance. Whatever was left of summer would soon be swept up in the foreboding storm. The sight sent shivers down her spine and fear curling through her insides when a sudden horn diverts her attention.

“Riders!” Came a shout from the wall to her left, nearest the main gate. Quickly the young woman steels herself for an attack, slipping back the way she came cutting a path across the yard to help defend the gate. Brienne and Podrick had done the same, making their way from the hall to stand beside her their weapons already in hand. With a flick of her eyes Arya spied Sansa standing at the top of the stairs, Bran seated beside her their eyes unwaveringly trained at the yard below.

For a moment the world sat in silence, when all at once the ground beneath begun to shake with a thundering pace. For a moment it reminds Arya of Harrenhall, when the Lord Tywin had swept through as loudly as the proud lion that served as his sigil. At the thought the brunette grips Needles handle a little harder, leveling her breath just as the first riders bare over the crest of nearest hill.

Relief flushes through her as the grey direwolf’s standard flies overhead, relief and a little something else that leaves her breathless until the first line of horsemen course through the gates. Jon is there, dressed in black as though he had flown down from the wall just to welcome her home, a grey destrier coursing beneath him. The men sweep the yard, and for a moment Arya nearly gets trampled in all the commotion. But in a few smooth steps she regains her composure and finds herself closer to Brienne’s towering figure. The older woman is already greeting the company, though Arya can hardly find it in herself to pay attention as she seeks out the sight of her older brother. In a rush of emotion the younger woman rushes forward, ducking effortlessly between the ragged men surrounding their king to barrel unceremoniously into Jon’s side. Tears threaten to spill for a moment and then unsteady arms slowly wrap around her in a monstrous hug in a deep sigh of relief. _He was home_ , she thought to herself squeezing her eyes to staunch the flood of tears threatening to make a fool of her.

“Arya,” Jon mumbles pulling away enough to look upon her with his own eyes. She was really here. His youngest sister had survived the terror of the Lannisters in Kingslanding. When everyone else had believed her dead she had survived. Exhaling slowly Arya noted the slight quiver in his bottom lip, and closed her eyes again as she struggled to pull him in for another hug.

“I missed you,” She whispered, her voice cracking just loudly enough for him to hear through the thick fur trim that lined his shoulders. Shoulders like their father. The brother in her arms was a man now - a King. _The King of the North and a Stark_ , she reminded herself as pride swelled within her.

A cough roused them from their moment and Sansa stood attentively near Bran, Brienne and Pod waiting for them to disengage. Reminding them of their audience Arya felt a deep rumble of laughter through their embrace.

With a rueful smile Jon set Arya down again, both a little reluctant to let go so soon. His eyes swept over her to make sure everything was still intact before he decided to draw their attention to the sword in her belt. “I hope it’s served you well?” He asked mussing her hair just as he always had. Yet his little sister wasn’t so little anymore. She had become a woman grown in the time apart, dressed in boiled leather and a fur-trimmed cloak with a sword at her side. The sight set a pang of loss and joy through his chest. _What she must’ve endured_ , he wondered, remembering the day he had given her that sword before they had left for horrors they would've never imagined.

“Wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t,” She smiled, her eyes bright with joy as she rested her palm on the pommel. A thousand thoughts are flying through her mind when her eyes catch sight of a familiar face behind Jon’s shoulder.

For a moment she wondered if she was hallucinating. Arya had heard of magic that let people see things that weren’t really there until they went mad with apparitions. When Jon caught sight of her confused look he turned to see who she was staring at, and chuckled as he raised an arm to introduce the man to Arya. “This is,-“

“Gendry,” Her voice had all but left her. His unwavering blue eyes held her own just as they always had, weighing one another as the realization settled between them. The second past all to quickly as Gendry dropped his gaze to the muddy ground beneath them. But the look he had given her was ingrained in her mind all the same.

“M’Lady,” He spoke, voice hoarse with disbelief and uncertainty as he stared at his feet. Her palm tightened against the pommel of her Needle at the title slipping from his lips. The last time those words had hung between them had been by firelight in the caverns after he had joined the craven brotherhood. How many years had it been since then? _He seemed different now_ , she thought. His long shaggy black hair shaved short while stubble had begun to line his hallowed jaw. Still as tall as he had ever been Gendry’s old rough-spun clothes and leather vest had been replaced by a shaggy patch-work of northern pelts and wool. _He looked every bit the part of a north man standing there_ , Arya reflected as a smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Faltering to find a way to reconcile the conversation about his new companion, Jon looked between them trying to understand. “What do you two know each other?” Jon questioned turning to face them both fully.

“It’s a long story,” Arya interjected quickly, her tone light though her grey eyes leave no room for discussion. And for a moment she swears Gendry looks as though he’s contemplating melting into the sodden ground beneath them. The tension between the three of them is palpable, and for a moment Arya thinks Jon might push the subject when his mouth opens to speak. Yet after a second thought, Jon’s face breaks out into a wide grin and his hand lands atop her head to muss her hair like it always had. “Aye, I’m sure it is,” He agreed turning to his guard. “Might be we can all hear this story over mead and meat, but first there are bigger matters to discuss.” His gaze shifted to Bran and Sansa where they had led the procession into the great hall.

It had been years since she had stood this close to her brother, years since she had read the fleeting brooding look in his eyes, yet she read it plain as day. Jon was afraid, but of what?, She wondered. Thick brown eyebrows knit together her lips slipped down in worry as his men led them toward the hall. Belatedly she realized Gendry had hung behind, his gaze flickering through the crowd unsure of whether or not he should follow. But by then another figure had come up behind him, a thick arm shoving him roughly after the group. Relaxing slightly at the sight, Arya settled in along Jon’s right side smiling as ghost settled into a slow trot at his left. _Her pack was home and whole again_ , and that was all that mattered.


	2. Unspoken Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry meets the family and reunites with his favorite little spitfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gendry's POV of a little Gendrya one-on-one reunion

Loud voices echoed boisterously as the procession crammed their way into the long hall. Dark stained tables had been pulled out and men crowded to seat themselves as closely to the dais as they could without running over the other Lords. Yet Gendry still felt queer following them, he had never been in a castle let alone a great hall. Not unless he counted his time at Dragonstone, and even then he had seen more of the dungeons than anything else. 

The four Stark siblings had settled behind the great table at the top of the Dais, each an equal measure of nobility dressed in fine thick winter cloaks trimmed with fur edges and held with grey-silver fastenings shaped in likeness to the wolf that flew on their banner. _Direwolf_ , he chided himself as he spied the white beast that laid silently beneath Jon’s feet. It was little wonder to him now why Arya had never seemed afraid of ordinary wolves during their time in the woods. 

A loud curse roused him from his thoughts as the Hound crashed down along the bench beside him. Muttering as he pulled the frozen gloves from his hands the man rubbed his palms to warm them, “Fuck the north and their damned winters.” The comment pulled some cold glares from the men around them but Gendry snorted all the same, enjoying the mans blunt words.

“Ye call this winter?” Tormund asked seating himself across from them with a chunk of rye bread already half-eaten in his right hand.

Scowling the Hound leaned back sourly. “Piss on your winters. That shit walk beyond the wall was enough for me.” He snapped, one hand reaching out to grab a tankard of ale from a serving maid as she passed by. Her eyes went wide as saucers when she recognized his burnt face and quickly set the other drinks down for the men around them.

Taking his drink Gendry turned his gaze back to the Starks. He hadn’t expected one to be a cripple and wondered why Arya had never mentioned him. Beside the boy sat Jon, who was currently addressing the other lords throughout the room as he ate. He had guessed Jon was only a few years older than himself and a bastard too. Yet Jon had done something Gendry couldn't, he had united the north and stood to inherit the whole of it if they won the war against the wights. It was something Gendry silently admired.  Beside him sat a woman with hair like flames framing her thin pale face. Lady Sansa, he had heard the men mutter at their arrival. Some had even mistaken her for the Late Lady of Winterfell but Gendry had known better, she was too young to be Arya’s mother -and by the looks of it a little too cold with her lips twisted downwards at something her bastard brother had said.

Belatedly his gaze shifted until swept across the last of the Starks. She had grown into her looks, the chopped brown strands he had remembered now hung braided down to her shoulders. Nevertheless her face still carried the certain sharp wolfish intelligence it always had. And the ragged clothes Yoren had given her for the march to the Watch had been discarded for a sleek leather lace-up jerkin. The rest was hidden behind the thick planks of the wooden table but Gendry remembered the attention she had gotten with her wool folded skirt that cropped just below her knees exposing the rough leather riding boots bound to her legs. He had smiled at that, even when she was a lady, Arya wasn't a true lady in the common sense. Not that he cared about what she wore, nothing had caught his attention like the scabbards on either side of her leather belt. Somewhere along the way she had found her little castle-forged sword again. The fact that she had found it again made the corners of his lips tilt up in a genuine smile while he ate. 

“Ye keep staring like that and she might poke your eyes out boy,” The Hound muttered shoving an elbow roughly into his side. Eyebrows knit in confusion Gendry realized to little to late that his staring had caught Arya's attention. Swallowing thickly he turned his gaze back to his ale, taking a long gulp as Tormund rumbled in laughter.

“The boys thinkin’ about poking her too,” The wildling remarked grinning as he dug into his serving of wild goose.

Unable to hide the look of disdain at the wildlings' comment Gendry shook his head quickly, “It’s not like that.” He retorted stubborn.

“Oh yeah? Then what is it like?” The Hound asked gruffly cocking a lone eyebrow at him questioningly.

“I-I don’t know. But it’s not that,” Gendry insisted pointedly glaring at Tormund.

“What’re you afraid the lady won’t want a bastard like you?” Tormund asked, not letting him go so easily. “All ye got’te do is take your cock out boy, it’s confidence ye need.”

Gendry balked, nearly choking on his mutton as his free hand grabbed his tankard and chugged the ale greedily. He had nearly forgotten about all the times he had pissed in front of the Stark girl before he had known she was a lady. Lowering his gaze to the plate in front of him, Gendry didn’t feel so hungry anymore.

At the boys continued silence the Hound paused, sparing him a sidelong look of surprise. “Seven hells boy ye didn’t actually show the girl your cock did you?”

Face flushed red with embarrassment, Gendry knew full well there was no way to rectify the conservation between the two older men. Finishing his drink in one long pull he slammed the empty cup on the table before moving to stand up shouldering past a few men standing behind him. The hall was still loud with dinner talk as Gendry made his way outside, taking a deep breath of the frozen air and ripping the last bit of meat off his mutton chop with a sigh of relief. The conversation had left him anxious to do something, anything.

Shivering he surveyed the yard before setting out for what looked like the burnt remains of a former smithy. The roof had caved in over parts of the forge but the anvil and smaller hammers still laid scattered about the frozen floor. Bending over he reached to pick one up when a small shadow slipped up behind him. Gendry felt himself bristle at the thought that the men had followed him out to tease him a little more when a familiar voice spoke up.

“Your hair is shorter.” She commented as he glances over one shoulder. Unable to suppress a snort of laughter at the obvious Gendry scanned over her questioningly.

“Yeah well I couldn’t risk working in Kingslanding looking like my father,” He countered running a hand sheepishly over his head. 

The corner of her mouth dropped as her face scrunched up in confusion, a look so familiar he had to stop himself from grinning at her. “I thought you said you didn’t know your father.”

“I didn’t,” Gendry replied before adding, “-The red woman told me.”

“You mean the red _witch_ ,” Arya amended her beautiful grey eyes hardened at the memory. If it hadn’t been for Melisandre, Gendry would have never been taken away. “And you believe her? They sold you to her for Gold when she wanted to hurt you.” Her voice cracked with incredulousness.  

The comment made him glower, he had been too foolish at the time to, believing the woman had really wanted him for anything else. “When you're King Roberts last living bastard you do,” He retorted stubbornly as his tempered flared. "What else would the queen and her bloody gold cloaks want with a blacksmiths apprentice?"

Arya was silent for a moment, her face blank as she reeled with the new information. “What’re you doing here then, with Jon?” She finally asked her voice low as she tried to understand .

It was a good question, one that Gendry had had a good answer for up until this moment. He had told Ser Davos that he was tired of serving the Lannisters. And with Jon, that he couldn’t risk waiting out this winter if the wights really were coming for Westeros. But they weren’t Arya. She would find the truth of it even if it annoyed him to no end. Defeatedly Gendry found himself shrugging as he glanced at the anvil. “Figured if I’m going to spend my life serving kings it should be another bastard. Not some blonde little shit that’s trying to kill met.”

Those clear grey eyes met his calculatingly, until the smallest smile tugged at the corner of her lips. He didn't see her move, but in one moment she was barreling headlong into his torso with such a force that Gendry stumbled back in surprise. Pausing he watched in astonishment as she wrapped harms around his midriff and buried her nose into the furs of his overcoat. The sight caught his breath yet as his mind began to process her form against his Gendry let his arms drift to return the hug. Hands splayed across her back he felt his shoulders drop, relaxing into the embrace as he pulled her closer still.

They stood like that, silently enjoying one anothers' company for a moment, and he wondered if he should tell her that he was happy she had found her way back to him. But the words felt funny on his tongue and stuck in his throat when he tried to wet his lips. _No_ , Arya wasn’t a woman for soft words, he reminded himself as she pulled away finally. They had never minced their words, and doing that now might ruin everything.

Gendry heard the doors begin to open before he saw them, by then she had already detached herself from his side. The tide of voices carrying across the yard breaking the spell between them. With a rueful smile Gendry nodded towards the group of men. "Go," he mumbled, “Our _king_ 'll be looking for you,” remembering the siblings reuniting earlier. 

Her light grey eyes rolled in good humor at her brothers title yet Arya shifted away all the same, turning slowly to head back the way she had come. It wasn't until she had finally left his sight that Gendry slumped against the cold metal anvil, the forgotten hammer still in one hand and felt his heart drop with all the words he had left unspoken.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a short sappy fluff fic where Gendry watches Arya spar, and some things are said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no idea where this fic is going but here it is lmfao

The snow was falling heavily with the winds of winter. Whatever sodden ground lay beneath their feet had been covered by a layer of white, and left Gendry with a chill all the way to his bones. These were the moments that he missed Kingslanding and the street of steel with their warm weather and bright sunlight.

            He had been working on restoring the forge to its former glory for near a week, but something else had caught his attention that morning. A group of men had crowded themselves around a small corner in the open courtyard, muttering and shouting unintelligible things. At first Gendry hadn’t thought twice about it, stubbornly clearing out the floor of the smithy, when the name “Arya” floated through their shouting. He had paused, straining to hear their conversation when another shout for “Arya” rang overhead.

            Light blue eyes cast around the courtyard, gaging who else was taking interest in the clamor, before slowly making his way over. Here the ground looked like rusted bronze, the snow left muddied by footprints. Hearing the sound of swords clanging together as he neared Gendry wondered what kind of trouble his companion could have gotten herself into now.

            It didn’t take much for the man to shoulder his way through the crowd until he stood at the edge of a practice ring. Arya’s braided hair hung in loose strands down her shoulders as her eyes measured Lord Beric calculatingly. Across from her Lord Beric shifted his weight into a wide stance, holding his two-handed flaming great sword in front of him. Subconsciously Gendry felt his hand flex, wishing he hadn’t left his war hammer behind in the forge.

            But before he could think Lord Beric wielded his sword, slashing toward Arya without mercy. She met his attack, dancing out of the way before deflecting the sword with her Needle. Before he could correct his movement the young girl pulled her valyrian steel dagger from her belt with her other hand. In a swift movement she motioned to stab him along the thigh, stomach and neck.

            For a moment Gendry thought the fight was won, men had begun to cheer and shout for the Lady. Lord Beric was not one to give in so easily. With a smooth spin at his side, and twist of his sword the man meant to sweep Arya’s leg out of her line of vision. Yet, as if she sensed it, the Stark stepped over his swing. Leaving him with both arms over-extended and out of fighting range by the weight of his sword. Lord Beric looked almost comical bent over at an odd angle in front of her, neck exposed.

            Without hesitation Arya snapped the flat end of her sword against the bare skin, and kicked the great sword into a mound of snow as his hands went to rub away the beginnings of a welt.

            “Lady Arya!” The clangor of her name erupted around him as the men began to clap and cheer for her. The sound lifted her lips into a tell-tale grin that spread to her clear-grey eyes once Lord Beric raised her arm in victory. At her eye contact Gendry felt the nervousness for her safety dissipate. She had always been fearless, but it wasn’t until this moment that he had witnessed her skill with a sword. The realization made him uncomfortable, sending a twinge down his spine and into the pit of his stomach. Not for the first time did he realize how much she had grown in their time apart.

            The realization sent a flood of shame like ice cold water over his body. Ducking his head Gendry turned to make his way back to the forge. He shouldn’t have thought about her like that, he thought as the images of her lithe form moved during the fight replayed in his mind.

             “What’s wrong?” The voice nearly had him jump out of his skin. Fist clenching Gendry stared at Arya standing next to him.

            “Nothin’,” he muttered noncommittally

            “You’re lying.” She retorted, eyes searching his though her expression remained blank.

            “I’m not.” Gendry replied feeling his temper flare at her insistence.

            “You are. I can tell.” She wasn’t going to let this go, “Your jaw twitches when somethings wrong.”

            The fact that she had paid attention enough to catch his tell caught him off guard for a moment before his stubbornness returned. “I’ve got work to do, why don’t you go bother someone else.”

            Even has the words left his lips Gendry knew it wouldn’t deter her from being around him. “Can I help?” She asked.

            Frustrated Gendry let out a short breath through his nose before turning back to the forge. “Here.” Handing her the great hammer he motioned for her to place it in the corner with the other swords he had recovered. There were only a handful left, and most in poorer condition than what would’ve been liked for the impending war. Handing her an oiled rag and wet stone Gendry watched as she sat on an old work bench and got to sharpening. He stood watching the long smooth strokes against the edge of the blade, the familiar sound of sharpening steel holding him captive for a moment before he remembered where he was. Turning his attention back to clearing out the ash and soot they worked in silence until the sun began to set.

By then she had finished sharpening nearly half a dozen swords. Laying down the latest sword Arya finally stood, taking a moment to stretch out her legs before glancing at Gendry form the corner of her eye. “Jon told me you’re the reason any of them are still alive.” It was a statement if not for the curious look in her eyes, and for a moment Gendry wished more than anything he could read her mind.

Shrugging he rubbed his blacked hands off on his furs in an attempt to distract himself, “Davos did it really. I was half dead by the time the wall was in sight.”

Her lips tilted in the smallest smile as she turned to face him fully. “I’m glad you made it. I’m glad the red witch didn’t kill you.” She finally offered, her soft voice barely above a whisper.

Six feet stood between them. He could clear the space in three quick steps. The thought brought back the shadow of her dancing form from the spar against Lord Beric. He had felt that lithe form wrapped up through his furs in this same place. The memories made his stomach flip and drop in nervousness. Gendry fought to control his breathing for a moment before he finally dared to meet her gaze. “Me too.”


End file.
